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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347801">Girl Under Fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KananOrgana/pseuds/KananOrgana'>KananOrgana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: Rebels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hera's start with the rebellion, Pre-Star Wars: A New Dawn, Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, Young Hera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:22:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KananOrgana/pseuds/KananOrgana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hera Syndulla has just left her home and everything she's ever known in search of her meaning in the wide open galaxy</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The lurch of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> as it left the atmosphere of Ryloth sent a strange feeling down Hera Syndulla’s spine. She’d wanted to leave home for, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> by then, but her mother’s memory kept her there. Until it didn’t. She realized her mother would want her to follow her own dreams and not just the local whims of her father. And Hera Syndulla’s goals for a rebellion against the Empire were bigger than her father’s ever were or ever would be; she saw the entire galaxy rising up against the Empire’s tyranny and she wanted nothing more than to be a part of that uprising, preferably at the forefront of the movement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her green eyes flicked around as her fingers danced from button to button. She was alone then, save for her grumpy old C1 unit, Chopper. Hera would like to say that Chopper meant well, but then again, Hera also didn’t like lying. She’d rescued him from a fallen bomber when she was eight years old. He was damaged beyond belief--the pilot hadn’t made it--but he turned into her little project. She’d shown an interest in mechanics as a toddler, but she’d only really been able to tinker with things around her house, until Chopper literally crashed into her life. He was a cantankerous machine, but the more she repaired him, the more he took to Hera. He still gave her plenty of grief, and Hera didn’t think that would ever change--she certainly hoped it wouldn’t. She’d never tell him but she got a real kick out of his sarcastic warbles and she considered him her oldest and truest friend. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chopper’s wheel squeaked as he rolled into the cockpit and Hera made a mental note to fix that while they were in hyperspace. She’d been before, after Gobi told her about the old VCX-100 freighter for sale over in Kala’uun. A year’s worth of savings added onto what she already had was more than enough to buy the piece of junk off the drifter before he left for Tatooine or Nal Hutta or wherever he was headed. He tried giving her a discount for being the daughter of Cham Syndulla--at least that’s why he </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was doing it--but Hera’s greatest fear at that point was only being known as his daughter, so she insisted on paying full price. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera’s relationship with her father was complicated at best. She’d been fairly close to him when she was a child, at least until the Clone War came. Then he became wrapped up in his resistance. Her mother was too, to a degree. But when Hera was 10, her mother was killed in an offensive against the Separatists. Hera tried not remembering that day, and Cham did the same. Hera wrapped herself up in fixing up Chopper to be the best he could be, and she spent the rest of her time begging people around her province to teach her to fly. Her father threw himself entirely into the liberation movement and Hera hardly even saw him after that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Leaving home was about her dream of mass rebellion, yes, but she’d be lying if she said her father hadn’t played a role, so she didn’t. Leaving meant freedom, both personal and galactic. Hera was aware that her hopes for galaxy-wide rebellion were lofty, but she believed they just needed hope. She had that hope and it told her overthrowing the Empire </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> possible. And she’d be damned if she didn’t play a part in it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her father wasn’t happy when Hera told him she was leaving. He was even more displeased when she used her mother as her justification.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And my mother, what would she have wanted me to do? Stay here and focus on one planet when the entire galaxy is suffering? She always told me to think big and now I am. I’m going, Father, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The conversation was only a few hours old, but Hera could still feel the sting of her words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera didn’t really have much of a plan; she’d been involved in...questionable acts against the Empire in the past, but never anything she herself planned beyond clipping fuel lines or disabling weapons systems, and throwing stray detonators where Stormtroopers just happened to be gathered. Thorns in the Empire’s side, but nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She figured she’d just hop around the galaxy, stopping wherever she felt a hunch or where she knew the Empire was involved. From there, probably a lot of the same things she did back home until she could find a contact and she had no idea how she’d do that beyond making a name for herself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Hera was more than capable of that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>###</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chopper warbled some strange insult, though Hera wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Chopper insulted everyone without much discretion, and his early days with Hera had been nothing but beeped insults and criticism of her work. Once he tried working on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his complaints about its rudeness. Hera figured it went both ways, but knew Chopper would feign innocence at the suggestion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Outer Rim world of Lothal covered the viewport. Hera hadn’t heard much about the planet other than compliments on its landscape from various spacers. But she wasn’t there for the mountains or plains; Hera was there because the planet had somewhat recently petitioned the Empire for its citizens. The Empire’s presence would be minimal at best and she would jump at the opportunity to help those in need, so as far as Hera was concerned, Lothal was the perfect starting point for her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera spun out of her chair once she was sure they were safely in hyperspace. It wouldn’t be a terribly long journey, but it’d be enough to fit a nap in after she repaired Chopper’s squeaky wheel. She pulled her hydrospanner out of the toolbag that was still sitting behind her seat. She didn’t normally leave it lying around, but any confrontation with her father was sure to throw Hera off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come here, buddy. Your wheel keeps making that sound and I’m gonna rip it out.” Hera sighed. Chopper rolled back in alarm and Hera chuckled. “I’m fixing it, you bucket of bolts. Calm down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chopper warbled suspiciously before rolling back over to Hera and extending his front wheel as much as he could. He would never tell the organic, but he really did appreciate her. But letting her know would mean making him look </span>
  <em>
    <span>soft</span>
  </em>
  <span> and C1-10P was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a soft droid. Literally or metaphorically speaking. Hera knit her brows together as she tightened something on the wheel, Chopper wasn’t really paying attention. And the times he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> pay attention, he acted like he wasn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, that should do it.” Hera leaned back on the balls of her feet and rested her arms on her knees. “Try that out, Chop.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chopper rolled forward, backward, then in a circle. No more annoying squeak from his wheel. He was thankful, though he’d never tell Hera that. Instead, he gave her a clipped response and rolled down deeper into the ship. Hera smiled, shook her head, tossed the hydrospanner into her bag, then put it back in the cabinet where it belonged. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera decided against the nap, or rather, her anxiety did. She wasn’t nervous about going to a new planet; that part excited her, as did the flight. She was nervous because she was afraid something would happen or she wouldn’t find an operative and that she’d have to return to Ryloth a failure. The cause already meant so much to her that it was worth that risk, though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To Hera, the Empire was death. Death and suffering. It wasn’t that they killed her mother, though that did contribute to her hatred. It was the fact that they just took what they wanted with no regard for the lives that stood in their way. Natural resources, food, shelter, land, people. They took them all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera Syndulla would put an end to it if she had to do it herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The indicator beeped and Hera realized she’d spent more time moping than doing anything productive around the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like cleaning the fresher or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She adjusted her old gray pilot’s cap and wished she could just take it off--and wished she had as soon as she went into hyperspace--but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> dropped into realspace and Lothal filled her viewport. It was a very beautiful planet that reminded Hera of the marbles she played with as a kid while her parents were off fighting the Separatists. If she sat and thought about it, her childhood was a sort of happy one with too many dark clouds. She wasn’t even sure she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>call </span>
  </em>
  <span>it a childhood, growing up on a battleground. If she sat and thought about it, the sad things outweighed the good, so she actively tried pushing it out of her mind whenever it beckoned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera took control of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> and carried her down into a spaceport in Capital City. As expected, she flew over a number of stormtrooper patrols and transports, with a high concentration in the market district. A small smile tugged at Hera’s lips and her chest swelled with the anticipation of giving the Imperials a bad day. That of all things would be sure to cheer her up. She made her way down the ramp with Chopper putting along behind her. She kept careful track of his movements in the strange port until he stopped moving. He let out a low warble.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, Chop?” Hera wanted to reach for the blaster strapped to her side, but didn’t. The last thing she needed was to attract the wrong kind of attention without provocation. The droid tilted forward and let out a series of beeps. “My birthday? But it’s…” Hera counted the days on her fingers as if Chopper would ever be wrong. He wasn’t. “Huh, I guess you’re right. Want to stop by a cantina for a half-assed celebration?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chopper beeped disapprovingly, earning a laugh from Hera.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s one drink. I think that’s acceptable now that I’m 18.” Hera said. Chopper warbled again but Hera ignored him. She wasn’t a big drinker back home; all the drunk pilots in Kala’uun sort of turned her off to the idea. However, Hera didn’t see anything wrong with a celebratory drink, if she could even call it that. She preferred not to think of her birthday in most instances as all it did was remind her of a death she absolutely refused to think of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera shook her head as if to physically take the thoughts away. She tugged at the sleeve of her brown jacket and made her way into town. Lothal was more diverse than she’d been expecting and it calmed her. They also vastly outnumbered the stormtroopers, at least at the moment. Hera knew that would change as time went on. It always did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She kept her eyes on the ground as she passed a couple of combat drivers, one of whom turned his head as Hera passed by. She closed her eyes, but only to prevent anyone from seeing her roll her eyes. It was a horrible old habit her mother constantly chided her for, but by that point, it was more reflex than anything else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She walked past an unguarded hangar with three TIEs just begging to be messed with. Hera looked over both shoulders before hurrying behind one. She pulled her laser scalpel out of her pocket, sliced its fuel line and a wire or six in its weapons array, then did the same to the other two fighters before just as sneakily slipping out of the hangar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t take long to find a cantina; towns with big ports had them peppered all around. She chose one that didn’t look terribly seedy, but still had a rather sleazy atmosphere. Hera knew she could handle herself and figured it was as good a place as she’d find, so she slipped inside and made her way to the bar. The guy behind it gave her a funny look as she ordered, but served her all the same. A laugh overpowered the music for a brief moment. Without turning her head, Hera looked in that general direction and saw a surprisingly beautiful woman talking to a friend as she walked down the bar. She watched the woman pass appreciatively--she was allowed to do that without needing to form any real interest in her. As if that was something she’d ever be able to pursue in the first place. Her plans for her future were set in stone and they didn’t include a partner, pretty girl or otherwise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera laughed in spite of herself and sipped her drink. It was more bitter than the liquors she’d snuck at home, but not at all unpleasant. Everyone else in the bar was more than wrapped up in their own business and Hera was more than happy with that until she felt a pair of eyes on her. Hera casually shifted her gaze to a Togruta woman across the bar. She was attractive, too, but something about the intensity of her gaze threw Hera off. She swallowed her unease and the rest of her drink before making her way over to the woman. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Enjoying the show?” She asked with only a hint of bite in her tone. The woman chuckled and pushed her drink aside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I enjoyed the one in that Imperial hangar.” The woman said evenly. Hera’s lekku twitched. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> no one had seen her. She ordered another drink, thinking that if that was how the conversation would start, she’d need a little more alcohol to get through the rest. “Don’t worry, I’m not ratting you out to the Imps. I actually wanted to see if you’d be interested in a job.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera choked on her drink. “A job?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not too unlike what I’m sure you’ve already done. See, the Imperials have a big shipment of weapons coming in tomorrow night. A shipment large enough to convince me that they’ll be sending a small battalion here any day now. You...acquire this shipment, I pay you, and you satisfy your desire to rebel, and I can put you in the middle of the fight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hera finished her drink. The woman said that last part as if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hera wanted that and she said it with more certainty than having only witnessed Hera sabotage a couple of TIE Fighters. This woman, whoever she was, knew far more than she was letting on and that should have discouraged Hera, but it had the opposite effect. The woman had a calming presence and voice and even a chance at getting involved with the Rebellion made it worth it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “And what would you have me do?” Hera asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What you’re doing now. And some jobs for me. Relief aid to hurting planets. Supply runs. Little jobs that help people while still sticking it to the Empire. You get a crew, you get bigger jobs.” The woman shrugged nonchalantly, or at least she appeared to. Hera could tell the woman thought she was in control of her façade, but Hera could read people better than that. The woman was clearly anxious; the subtle twitches in her lekku told Hera that much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can call me Fulcrum.” The woman smiled. Hera wanted to frown because of all the codenames to choose, that was a strange one. Strange name, strange woman. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That doesn’t tell me anything.” Hera saw a shadow of a smirk on Fulcrum’s face with amusement dancing behind her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you tell me anything about yourself?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...</span>
  <em>
    <span>fair point</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This job of yours. What do you need me to do first?” </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hera tugged at the poncho this “Fulcrum” had given her. She didn’t understand why she needed a damn poncho to go steal a couple of crates of blasters--or four. It’d probably only be half of the shipment, but the best she could do on her own. She considered stacking on a few more crates because Fulcrum clearly underestimated her and that just would not do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Point was, Hera knew what she was doing and what she was doing did not require a blasted poncho.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then came the rain, and it fell </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Loud plops hit her poncho as Hera walked down the street like she belonged there. Her instincts were great, she’d reason, but she’d never shown strong capabilities for predicting the weather or ever even taking notice of it and she’d forgotten to check her datapad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blow to her pride was bad enough; Hera didn’t need a million tiny reminders hitting her as she crouched behind a couple of weapons crates. Could she get away with much on her own? Probably not. Would she find a crew or at least a partner? Also no. Hera Syndulla worked alone. Life was easier that way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera connected the four crates as Fulcrum had instructed, but a mere 80 blasters taken from at least 300 soldiers wasn’t much. Hera looked down both ends of the alley to make sure she hadn’t picked up any friends and was satisfied to find she was still alone. Hera smirked and added another four crates to the ones already attached to the speeder bike. They’d slow her down, absolutely, but if she was going to kick the Empire, she’d kick them </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hopped onto the speeder, pleased with having over half of the small battalion’s weapons, and took off toward the hangar Fulcrum had mentioned. The crates slowed the speeder down far more than Hera expected; she estimated it was running at 60% capacity at best, but there were minimal troops in that sector, so she went with it. When troopers turned in her direction, she’d cut a hard right or left. She wondered why they’d have 15 crates of weapons just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sitting</span>
  </em>
  <span> in an alley, but she didn’t much care. If the Empire was really going to be that careless on Lothal, getting rid of them would be easy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She considered dropping the crates off without saying anything and going back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but if this Fulcrum really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a rebellion operative, Hera’d found her chance to make a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> difference. She didn’t hesitate to walk into the shack across from the hangar, wondering what in all hells she’d gotten herself into, though she couldn’t deny the buzzing sense of excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“From here on out you are anonymous. You know no one, you are no one. I’ll be in contact with you.” Fulcrum was wearing a cloak with a hood that obscured her face then, but shadows danced around her mouth. Hera grinned. Anonymity was one thing she’d always wanted, but something she never would have gotten on Ryloth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But how--” Hera stopped when she realized Fulcrum had slipped away, leaving only a holoprojector in her place. Hera wondered if all the rebels were so dramatic. All the same, she picked it up and it activated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a cantina in the town of Jhothal. Old Jho’s Pit Stop. Go there, sit at the table to the left side facing the bar. You’ll find a Quarren man with a sabacc deck. Ask to play, and as soon as you get a saber and queen, drop them in the center of the table no matter what is going on in the game. Then he’ll tell you everything you need to know. Fulcrum out.” The hologram fizzled out. Hera stuffed the projector in her pocket. She underestimated just how theatrical rebels--or maybe just Fulcrum as an individual--could be. Was it a learned trait?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She made her way back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost </span>
  </em>
  <span>and grabbed her datapad. Jhothal was a tiny town apparently named for the guy that owned the cantina. Hera frowned and set the pad on her dejarik table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That could either be really good or really bad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t trust leaving the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Capital City, so she took it to Jhothal instead of her newly acquired speeder bike. A speeder bike she’d have to work on; some stray piece on the throttle had cut her hand. Hera considered getting gloves to wear for more than just repairs, but decided against it. She figured they’d just slow her down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As she entered the cantina, she heard a loud laugh, then some yelling in a language Hera didn’t understand. She followed the piercing sounds to a Quarren man with half his frontmost right tentacle half gone. He was quite clearly drunk out of his mind, and drunks were Hera’s least favorite people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goddess help me.” She mumbled under her breath as she approached the table. “You up for a game of sabacc?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over her. She didn’t like it, but she’d grown to ignore eyes like that years ago. She unfortunately had to, being a Twi’lek woman and all. The Quarren’s eyes softened and he nodded and began to shuffle the cards. Hera could count on one hand the number of times she’d played sabacc, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> the man was rigging the deck. It wasn’t like she cared; she wasn’t playing to win, anyway. She just had to pass off the illusion. That would be simple enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They played through a couple of hands, both of which she lost. She was down to her last ten credits when the new cards dealt included a saber and queen. She sighed and tossed them over the pot as if it was nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That explains quite a bit. Your sabacc face is terrible, by the way. Might want to work on that if this is the line of work you’re going for.” The man said plainly before leaning damn near to the middle of the table. “Here’s the deal. The Empire’s been giving Sullust hell lately and there’s one town with a few operatives watching it. They’re suffering pretty bad, mostly single parents where the Imps took their partners for ‘service to the Empire’.” He scoffed in disgust and the skin around his eyes crinkled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Slaves.” Hera posited. She didn’t like when people danced around the subject of slavery. It was what it was and it was horrible. Using euphemisms only softened the blow for people unwilling to do anything about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. These people and their kids are suffering and they’re low on rations. Luckily, I have a great many crates locked up on Garel, which is in this sector. Go pick up my crates, take them to these good people. You’ll see one or two Destroyers in orbit, but nothing too bad. Think you got it under control?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know where the Empire took the slaves?” She asked. She cared about the supply run, but if she could free some people in the process…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t, unfortunately. And even if I did, it is not a one-woman job. Now this job. Can you handle it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Consider it done. Thanks for the game.” Hera smiled and made her way out of the cantina, but stopped short of the doorway when she recalled his comment about her sabacc face. If she was going to be meeting contacts in cantinas from there on out, she might as well practice. She walked back over to the bar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you sell sabacc decks?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Ithorian bartender chuckled and pulled a box up from under the bar. “You got your ass handed to you by Trerr, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.” Hera laughed and held out some credits, but the bartender wouldn’t take them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the first good seed to come into my bar for a while and I saw how much you lost against Trerr, so this is on the house.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera’s lekku twitched pleasantly at the Ithorian’s kindness and she raised her eyebrows. “You’re Jho.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully you think that’s a good thing.” Jho laughed. Hera offered a smile and thanks before making her way back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe she could convince Chopper to help her practice playing sabacc on the way to Garel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tossed the deck of cards at the droid as she walked up the ramp. Chopper caught the deck with one of his manipulators and warbled something along the lines of two rotations on her own and she’d already picked up a gambling habit, but Hera simply rolled her eyes and made her way toward the cockpit to take off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before her first game with Chopper, she made a big deal of cracking her knuckles and he laughed at her, then took a full rotation--not literally but Hera was impatient--to make his next move. He was taking forever on purpose to sweat her out and she knew it. While he dragged on, Hera studied the freckles on the back of her hand. She’d gotten them from her father. She loved them then, but as a child, not so much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Freckles are kisses from the goddess,” He’d said after little three-year-old Hera cried at the discovery that not everyone had the spots.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why would the goddess kiss my hands?” Hera asked curiously, studying her hands more closely. Cham laughed and took his daughter’s hands into his own.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because these hands are destined to do great things.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A particularly loud and especially annoyed warble came from Chopper and brought Hera out of her reverie. She’d lost. She didn’t even know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d lost, but she had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go again.” Hera grinned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chopper gave a questioning warble as Hera shuffled the deck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because if I’m going to be meeting contacts in cantinas for Fulcrum, I need to be able to hold my own in a game of sabacc. Now let’s go again. I win, you get an oil bath.” Hera dealt the cards; Chopper sputtered (Hera wasn’t sure if it was disbelief or discontent) but went along with her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Remember, my daughter. As in a resistance, you cannot let your face reveal your hand. Mind yourself and your body language. You fool your opponent into entering a false sense of security, and you win at most things in life.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hera’s heart dropped at the memory of her mother’s voice, but she was thankful it was at least a happy one. She was left with an idiot’s array, but she bit back her smile and minded the glint in her eyes. Chopper laid down his hand with pure delight until Hera let her cards fall onto the table, unimpressed. He spat out and rolled toward the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Phantom</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid organics and their stupid luck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera relaxed in her pilot’s chair once the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> was on its way to Garel. It was in the Lothal sector, like Trerr said, so there was no need to start up the hyperdrive. Hera used the time to clean her blaster. It didn’t need it, but she tended to be obsessive about it because she’d seen what happened when someone didn’t clean theirs often; that and she just liked things </span>
  <em>
    <span>clean</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once she finished, she fiddled with the hem of the poncho Fulcrum had given her. It was too...sandy for her taste. A quick dye job wouldn’t hurt. Hera was sure she could find some in a market on Garel. She knew she’d do a spotty job at best, but spotty brown would be better than the horrible sandy affair she was working with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chopper rolled into the cockpit some fifteen minutes later, clearly over his loss, and he fiddled with one of the mods running rusty on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Modifications Hera had ensured she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>plenty</span>
  </em>
  <span> of, many--read: all--of which were illegal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun was setting when Hera landed in the Garel City Spaceport. She couldn’t believe her eyes; a deep purple sky, the system’s two moons shining through the few layers of clouds, and beautiful rock formations off in the distance. Garel at sunset was Hera’s new favorite place in the galaxy. Granted so far she’d only been to Ryloth, a couple of its moons, Lothal, Arkanis, and Garel, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>still. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even so, as the ship lurched when the landing gear made contact with the ground, Hera found herself missing Lothal. The planet had some sort of magnetic draw to it, a draw Hera couldn’t place if she tried. She thought about returning in her downtime. She got the feeling that Lothal was not Fulcrum’s base of operations.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The job was legal that time--well, half legal, which was more legal than the stuff she’d gotten into on Lothal and Ryloth. Hera didn’t expect many of Fulcrum’s jobs to carry a modicum of legality, and she was happy about it. Legal jobs were boring. Hera loved and craved challenges; she always had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picking up the supplies--and the dye--was simple enough. Sneaking said supplies onto Sullust? Not as simple, but with her vast array of modifications on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she didn’t think it would cause her too much trouble. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She picked up the supply crates--only four. After that and the eight she stole from the Imps, Hera laughed at the thought of that crew Fulcrum mentioned. She immediately loaded the crates and set off for Sullust. That’s a longer jump than the last, so she lets Chopper take over--he beeps about being the superior pilot so she says she was flying relief missions on Ryloth at 15-- so she can go take a long, hot shower. Another reason why she didn’t want a crew; she had as much hot water as she wanted and she would never have to wait to use her own fresher. And Hera </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> being alone. Things were easier for her that way because she had no one to worry about on missions, no worries of a partner revealing her secrets, no worries about someone turning on her. She had enough of that to worry about when meeting contacts. She thinks about how it would take someone truly extraordinary to change her mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After her shower, Hera decided to make another wager that day and sleep. She tended to avoid it, but she hadn’t slept since the goddess knew how long. She made an effort to not keep track of how long she went without sleeping; all it ever did was stress her out more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dream started off seemingly peacefully enough. She was running around the courtyard of her home when she was a child. Tal was there. He always was--he was Hera’s little brother. She and the boy were close, though getting her on board with the idea of having a brother took time and a lot of Cham and Tislera’s patience. He died young and his memory brought Hera more pain than joy, so she actively kept her out of her mind, though she couldn’t do that in her sleep. He haunted her dreams. At least when she was awake she could push the thoughts away and distract herself, but she didn’t have that luxury when she slept. She heard his little voice nearly every night and it drove her mad. They weren’t nightmares in the traditional sense; they were far worse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She woke up with a start in a cold sweat, panting, and reminded of why she hated sleeping. It’s one reason why she usually skipped it altogether or only tried for a few hours at a time. She went and grabbed a ration bar and some caf that Chopper knew to brew after years of experience with these types of dreams. She then doubled back to the cockpit to see where she was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she entered, Chopper warbled questioningly. He’d been with her the day Tal was killed and he’d become very attuned to Hera’s dreams and her moods after and he was always at his kindest on those occasions. He quickly learned that the sarcastic jerk act only went so far with Hera after one of her dreams. The best way to get her back into working order was to be softer.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Chop.” Hera said, voice only 22% strained. Chopper figured she woke up before anything truly bad happened, in which case her voice would be 96.3% impaired. He warbled his greetings, careful not to sound too upbeat. Being overly nice after one of those dreams only ever succeeded in upsetting Hera more. He didn’t understand that part, or organics in general, but he did miss the presence of the Y-Wing pilot, so he thought he understood the sentiment. The only difference, Chopper reasoned, was that Hera’s brother was her </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span> and organics had the tendency to be close to their relatives and the fact that Tal had only been three galactic standard years old. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything looking okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beep of affirmation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. I think I’ll still take over for you, though. Go recharge for a bit. I’ll let you know when we get there.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chopper sputtered and it made Hera laugh. If Chopper had the ability to smile, he would have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I know you’ll already know when we get there. I’m being nice. Now go, you stubborn scrap heap.” It was lighthearted and that was exactly what Hera needed. Chopper was fun for some comic relief when she needed it, but plenty of things got lost in translation and Hera almost wished he could talk for some real banter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera scrolled around her datapad to learn about Sullust, as she’d never been. Obsidian, lava, and...toxic gas. Wonderful. Hera pulled her respirator out of a cupboard just to be on the safe side and tossed it onto the copilot’s seat before pressing a series of buttons. Fulcrum’s contact said there wasn’t quite an Imperial blockade of Sullust, at least not yet, so a simple masking of the signature and signal--Hera’s two favorite modifications--sneaking past one Destroyer would be child’s play.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera dropped into realspace to find a dozen Star Destroyers. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mind that violence warning change</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hera didn’t panic. She couldn’t remember the last time she did. Twelve Star Destroyers certainly weren’t ideal, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Either Fulcrum was setting her up or her intel was off, and Hera was inclined to believe it was the latter. Hera didn’t mind either way because the job would still get done. She didn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> think</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fulcrum was setting her up, anyway. Rebel operative or not, the nice pouch of credits Fulcrum had given Hera after the weapons job gave her 700 reasons why she should trust the mysterious woman. And Hera trusted her instincts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera made it through the blockade without any trouble apart from Chopper rolling up and down the hall screeching about how the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> was “an exhaust port” after plugging in and trying to do whatever it was he was doing. Hera rolled her eyes and took the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> down into a port. She put on her respirator before loading the supply crates off the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was guided out of the hangar and made her way toward a shanty town as her datapad instructed. One Sullustan stood near the entrance with his own datapad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I take it you’re Kiik?” Hera said. The man looked up from his datapad briefly and nodded before seeming to realize she had crates with her, at which point his head shot back up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You brought everything by yourself?” He asked, eyes wide. He looked at Hera, but not in a predatory way. He seemed more impressed than anything else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I have my C1, but--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C1 series? Ever think about upgrading him?” Chopper warbled rudely, but Kiik didn’t seem to understand him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not on your life, Kiik.” Hera grinned and patted Chopper’s dome proudly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before she left, Hera stopped to get new clothes. The ones she wore were old and tattered and if she was (secretly) representing the Rebellion, she may as well look good doing it. Hera got a brown jacket and a black one, each with orange stripes running down the sleeves, with matching pants. She saw a very enticing pair of fingerless brown gloves, so she got those, too. Aversion to gloves be damned, they were comfortable. They even had a nice white and orange pilot’s cap, so Hera grabbed it. She also stopped by another stall and got black dye, too. She thought it might suit the poncho better. She paid for her things and made her way back to Chopper and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> after deciding she’d spent more than enough of her payment for the weapons job. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She climbed the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s ramp and put her new clothes away, making a mental note to dye the poncho wherever she ended up next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She figured she should jump in the fresher to get all the soot off of her, but realized she should probably tinker with the engines, as they’d been a little laggy once she came out of hyperspace over Sullust. She could wash after she was covered in grease. Instead of the shower, she changed into her old orange jumpsuit, letting the top half hang over the belt with her new white tank top to cover her torso. It would get grease on it eventually, so Hera had no qualms about getting that part over with. She ripped her old top into a rag and hung it off her belt, then she pulled her tools out of their cabinet in the cockpit and got to work on the engines</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Repairing her ship or any mechanical thing usually cleared her mind. That’s one reason why she did it. But it also reminded her of her brother, Tal, because he usually floated around curiously while she repaired Chopper. Repairing her ship was one of very few instances where her thoughts would drift to Tal while she was awake--the other being any time she saw her father. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hera kicked her ball against a wall in her family’s courtyard, thinking about how much she hated the war. Her parents were always off fighting the Separatists with the Jedi and clones. She met a few clones a couple of times and loved them, and her friend Numa had a fantastic story about an adventure with a couple of them, but the tall Jedi sort of scared her. His lightsaber was purple, and Hera had never seen that before, so she assumed he was some sort of hotshot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Tal didn’t like that Hera got to meet soldiers and he didn’t. “I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>not</span>
  <em>
    <span> too little!” He’d argued, stomping his foot on the ground. Hera thought about how he should be happy he didn’t have any involvement in the war, that he was as safe as he was. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Someday, little love. But hopefully it’ll be over by then. Now,” Tislera kissed Tal’s head and Hera’s before standing up. “We’re going on our offensive. We won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest. Numa’s father will be over here to help you with dinner and breakfast and we will see you soon. I love you both.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Love you, too, Mom.” Hera said rather bitterly. She loved her mother dearly but resented her involvement in the resistance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hera went back to kicking her ball and Tal ran around pretending his tooka doll was flying. Hera heard a clatter, but ignored it. Tal was running around with a little ball, tossing it up while he walked around in circles. The sun hit the ball just right and it sent a strong flash into Hera’s eyes. She frowned and went back to her own ball. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then she heard three rapid fire beeps but it was too late. The ball--a thermal detonator thrown by a droid that got entirely too turned around from the battle a few kilometers away--exploded as it fell back into Tal’s hands. Hera’s annoyance turned to horror as she looked around to find evidence of Tal around the courtyard. A tortured cry tore itself from her throat as she ran to where he’d been standing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Numa’s father was unable to convince her to leave her brother and she screamed every time he tried to pick her up. It wasn’t until Cham reluctantly walked the path up to his home a couple of hours later that she finally left. By the time that happened, she’d resigned to her guilt and couldn’t find it within herself to fight him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then she noticed Tislera wasn’t there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why are you home so soon? Where’s Mom?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, Hera. I tried. I did. I tried and--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, you should have tried </span>
  </em>
  <span>harder</span>
  <em>
    <span>!” Hera screamed, violently tearing herself from her father’s arms. Hera Syndulla was eight years old and her family had been cut in half in a matter of hours.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memory disconcerted Hera enough that she lost focus on the work she was doing on the engine; the hydrospanner slipped and took a layer of skin off her thumb, along with a good piece of her nail. She cursed loudly and it echoed around the large, otherwise empty hangar. She stuffed the hydrospanner in her pocket and slid down the side of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghost</span>
  </em>
  <span> and walked around the ship and up the ramp. She had to tie the torn tank top rag around it to fight the bleeding. Hera half-wished she had someone on board who could take care of wounds, but she wasn’t sure it was bad enough to make her actively start looking for a sorry soul to join her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was almost finished cleaning the wound in her cabin when the holotable went off. A hooded figure--Fulcrum--was projected before her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have something for you. It’s big, though, and--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can handle it.” Hera said firmly.She thought her thumb might be an issue, but Hera never backed down from a challenge or an opportunity to prove herself. She thought she saw Fulcrum smirk.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sending you to Gorse. We have some...friends with similar aspirations in conflict with the Empire over the planet’s moon, Cynda. I’ll transmit full details to you in a moment, but I need you to go and assess the numbers and investigate what the Empire’s doing out there. I’ll send you a datafile outlining what you’ll need to do. Fulcrum out.” The holo fizzled out and Hera finished securing a bacta patch around her wound--it was an awkward fit, but she thought it would stay. She sighed and made her way out of her cabin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hera took a detour to the galley and snagged a ration bar before making her way to the cockpit to set course. Hera didn’t much believe in fate, but something was sent through her when Fulcrum told her to go to Gorse. Something good or bad or both or whatever, she wasn’t sure. She plugged the coordinates into the navicomputer, sent Chopper a sidelong glance and smile, and they were off. While Hera hoped the Empire would be defeated, she knew it would take a while. And she welcomed the prospect that her life was turning into a series of adventures across the galaxy. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I think at this point Chopper would still be a bit testy with Hera. Yes, he's grateful that she rescued him, but he's Chopper. He'll still listen to her, but I think he'd be a little more of an asshole about it after just a few years with her.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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